


the little things give you away

by salazarsslytherin



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, UST, kind of?, what happens in dorne stays in dorne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: Bronn gets Jaime talking about Arthur Dayne and realises there was more to that relationship than Jaime ever let on, which leads him to wonder what other possibilities might now be open for discussion...





	the little things give you away

“Favourite...place?”

A few seconds passed and Bronn glanced over to see if Jaime had gotten bored of indulging his little game, but the other knight only looked like he was thinking.  Bronn had been throwing questions at him for the past he didn’t know how long as the sun crept across the sky and the two of them carried on through the Dornish desert.  Their pace was faster now with the stallions they’d managed to steal from the men who’d ambushed them but it was still a long way to go, and Bronn had grown bored of the silence.

“Probably...Lannisport?” Jaime said after a while, screwing up his face and saying it like a question, like he wasn’t really sure himself.

“ _Lannisport_?” Bronn repeated, laughing.  “Isn’t that just where you grew up?”

Jaime shot him a look.  “Yes,” he said.  “It’s _home_.  What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s _home_ ,” Bronn said bluntly.  “Boring.  Somewhere aside from that, then.  What’s your favourite place you’ve ever been?  Posh knight like you, you must’ve been all over.  Don’t you highborn lot sell your kids off to other lords for years at a time?”

“Children _squire_ for knights and lords, they aren’t _sold_ ,” Jaime protested.

Bronn waved a dismissive hand; he didn’t care about the context of highborn ways, they were all strange and concerning when you really looked at them.  “Whatever,” he said.  “C’mon, best place?”

Jaime shrugged.  “I squired at Crakehall but there wasn’t anything there to write home about.”  Not that Jaime had ever written home, regardless.

“That’s right next to Lannisport, anyway,” Bronn countered.  “A _proper_ place, Jaime.”

“I don’t know, here’s nice,” Jaime said, glancing up at the sky and the sand around them.

“ _Here_?”

“Dorne,” Jaime clarified.

Bronn snorted.  “I didn’t think you’d been to Dorne before?”

“I haven’t.”

“ _This_ isn’t Dorne, you idiot.  This could be anywhere, it’s just _sand_.”

“It’s still _Dorne_ ,” Jaime insisted.  “The weather’s nice.  It’s warm.”

“Oh the _weather’s_ nice,” Bronn mocked, rolling his eyes.  “So you don’t like it up north, then?”

“No,” Jaime said shortly.

“Have you ever been to the Wall?”

Jaime snorted, then.  “When would I ever have been to the Wall?”

“I dunno, Tyrion’s been.  Didn’t you go with him?”

“I don’t have any interest in seeing a giant block of ice.  Winterfell was dull enough, can you imagine what it’s like _north_ of there?” Jaime replied.

“ _I_ don’t have to imagine,” Bronn said.  “So you’ve been to Winterfell, at least?”

“Yes,” Jaime said.  “I didn’t like it.  They have summer _snows_ up there.”

A right Southern lordling, was Jaime Lannister.  Bronn huffed a quiet laugh at him, nudging his horse on a little quicker as it had started to plod in his distraction.  “What about outside of Westeros?” he suggested.  “Braavos?  I bet you like it there, or Lys—you’ve got a Lysene look about you, actually, with that hair.”  Blond, tall, fair—Jaime would fit right in amongst the people there, both the free men and the pleasure slaves.  He’d fetch a lot of money, Bronn was sure, and he was going to stop thinking about that _now_ because it’d do no good to indulge thoughts like that.  The gods _had_ been cruel to him, though, to make Jaime a highborn lordling and not a pretty bed-slave Bronn could’ve bought for the night.  His looks and bitchy little mouth were _wasted_ on a white cloak.

“I’ve never been,” Jaime said.

Bronn paused a moment.  “ _Never_?”

“ _When_ would I have gone to _Braavos_?” Jaime asked indignantly.

“ _Sometime_ ,” Bronn retorted.  “Seven hells, what’s the point in having all that money if all you’re gonna use it for is to buy shiny armour?”

Jaime shot him a dirty look.  “It’s not _my_ money, it’s—”  The word’s ‘my father’s’ died on his lips and Jaime caught his breath as it washed through him.  His father was dead.  Tyrion had killed him.  _Jaime_ had killed him, by setting Tyrion free.  Now Tywin Lannister was gone, his children orphaned, and Jaime had never been so lost.  What did he have left, now?  His parents dead, his brother on the run, and Cersei hadn’t been the same with him since he’d returned from his captivity.  Even his Kingsguard brothers didn’t feel like _brothers_ , the way they once had.

“Didn’t you ever travel places when you were a kid?” Bronn asked when Jaime didn’t continue, his tone a hair gentler than it had been before, the mocking gone now.   

“Not really,” Jaime said, gratefully focusing back on the conversation at hand.  He’d never considered himself to be _un_ travelled until now but he was suddenly very aware of his lack of experience anywhere outside of King’s Landing or the Westerlands.  “I’ve been to Pyke?”

“To _visit_?”

Jaime shook his head.  “A battle.”  That was the main reason he’d ever gone anywhere, battles or tourneys, and even then he’d never gone far.  

“Bloody hell,” Bronn said, shaking his head.  “What a waste.  So you just grew up, went off to be a squire, got knighted...what?”

Jaime shrugged one shoulder.  “Exactly that,” he said.  “I was knighted when I was fifteen and I joined the Kingsguard not long after—I was home for...a few weeks?  A month?  Before they gave me the white cloak.”

“What about after?” Bronn pressed.  “Didn’t you ever go anywhere?”

Jaime’s horse lurched a step as he tensed in the saddle.  “No,” he said slowly.  “No, Aerys liked to keep me close.”

“Well, that didn’t end so well for him,” Bronn said flippantly.  

“And Robert was an oaf, but his reign was more peaceful—just the Greyjoy uprising,” Jaime carried on, glancing over at Bronn.  “This is the farthest I’ve ever been.”

Bronn met his gaze for a moment before looking back out over the expanse of desert before them.  “You should see more of the world, Lannister.  You’d never believe how much there is out there.”  Jaime had truly barely even _lived_ , Bronn was struggling to comprehend it.  He was just a sellsword and he’d seen far, far more of the world than one of the richest men in it.

“I’m a Kingsguard,” Jaime told him.  “My place is with the king.”

“You’re not with him now,” Bronn pointed out.

Jaime didn’t have a response for that.

Bronn decided to change topics.  “Favourite food?”

“It’s definitely not _snake_ ,” Jaime replied before he actually gave it some thought.  “Lemon cakes,” he decided after a moment.  “And honey cake.”

Of course Jaime had a sweet tooth.  Bronn hadn’t even tried lemon cakes until he’d started working for Tyrion; that sort of food was rich peoples’ fare.  They’d been far too sickly sweet for Bronn anyway; he preferred a good meaty pie and a big cup of ale.

“Rich bloody bastard,” Bronn said good-naturedly.  “Favourite song?”

“Am I supposed to say Rains of Castamere?” Jaime asked.

Bronn shrugged.  “If it’s your favourite.”

The silence that followed suggested it was not.

“Maybe...The King Without Courage?” Jaime said, unsure again.  “If I had to choose.”

“That one’s boring.”

“What do _you_ like, then?”

Bronn whistled the opening notes of Rains of Castamere.  “I actually _do_ like that one,” he said.  “And that song they started singing about the Battle of Blackwater, of course.  The Bear and the Maiden Fair, obviously.  Everyone likes that.  You must like others, you lot always have musicians at your big feasts.”

Jaime shrugged.  “I used to like more when I was younger, traditional ones about knights mainly, but I grew out of that.”

“Favourite knight, then?” Bronn asked, moving on.

“Arthur Dayne,” Jaime said without hesitation.

Bronn blinked, because Jaime had uum-ed and aah-ed about most answers up until then, though he’d still been more open than Bronn had ever thought he might be.  He hadn’t even thought for a _second_ before answering this one, though; he’d answered almost before Bronn had finished asking.

“Dayne?  Recent, wasn’t he?”  And an actual knight at that.  Bronn had been expecting a figure from a story or a song; he should’ve known better, knowing Jaime.  “Kingsguard?”

“Yes,” Jaime said.  “He was in the Kingsguard with me, the Sword of the Morning.  Surely you’ve heard of him?  He’s the best knight I’ve ever known, one of the best in history—not a man in the world could’ve faced him alone and won.”

“Not even you, back when you had your good hand?” Bronn asked, a mite teasingly because Jaime’s voice had suddenly taken on an entirely different tone.

“Certainly not,” Jaime said.  “He probably could’ve beaten the six of us put together with his left hand alone, he was stronger than me by far and a better warrior than I ever was.  A better _knight_ than anyone else, in any song.  Everyone knows that.  People used to say he was the most chivalrous knight in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Bronn struggled to keep his gaze forward, the temptation to look over was almost overwhelming; he’d never heard Jaime _gush_ before.  He didn’t even need to ask any more questions to get him to continue.

“When I met him, the first ever time, he’d taken men out to defeat the Kingswood Brotherhood—have you heard of them?”  Jaime didn’t wait for a response.  “They used to kidnap noblemen and ransom them back, but the smallfolk protected them until Arthur convinced Aerys to offer the crown’s protection instead, and paid them all for the things we used when we rode out,” Jaime said, more enthusiastic than Bronn had ever heard him.

“He defeated them?” Bronn prompted.

“Yes,” Jaime said.  “He knighted me after that battle,” he added softly, and hooked his reins over his golden hand so he could touch his own shoulder.  “His sword—Dawn, it was _white_ , this incredible greatsword, almost as famous as he was—when he touched me with it, it went right through my clothes and cut my shoulder.  There’s still a scar there now.”

Bronn wasn’t really sure that something like that ought to be said with such _awe_ but he wasn’t about to step on Jaime’s toes.  Nobody’d actually touched his shoulder with a sword when he was knighted, he’d assumed that was just something out of stories but of course the highborn knights did it properly.  Bronn could just imagine a younger Jaime, down on his knees and gazing up at this Arthur Dayne with the same awe on his face as was in his voice now.

“What’d he look like?” Bronn asked casually, more curious than he cared to admit.  He’d never heard Jaime talk about anyone like that, not even the queen.

“Like the Warrior,” Jaime said without thinking, and Bronn couldn’t stop himself from turning to Jaime then, in time to see him flush up his neck and cheeks.  “Like...a _knight_ , I mean,” Jaime added hastily, clearing his throat.  “He was Dornish—dark skin, dark hair.  He used to keep it short, it got too hot under his helm otherwise, but it curled when it started to grow out.  Bigger than me, at the time.  I don’t know now.  His eyes were purple, but not like Aerys or Rhaegar, lighter than that.  Nicer.”

“You liked him a lot,” Bronn observed carefully, when Jaime lapsed into sudden quiet.

“He was...my brother,” Jaime replied, in a tone trying too hard to be light.  “He was the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

“Did you know him well?” Bronn asked.

“Better than anyone,” Jaime said, with a fierceness he didn’t often speak with.

Bronn didn’t say anything to that, letting it sit as they continued to ride.  He was fairly certain he hadn’t misread that but you could never be sure.  Jaime hadn’t really given any other hints but then he had been fairly well occupied by one very mad, possessive woman for a very long time.  Bronn _had_ noticed the way Jaime had watched Oberyn Martell fight against the Mountain, but he’d thought Jaime was just appreciative of the other’s evident skill as a fighter.  Now he wasn’t so sure that it had been _only_ that.  

“Favourite position for sex?” Bronn asked suddenly, and gave a satisfied smirk when he heard Jaime inhale sharply.

“You can’t ask _that_!” Jaime said quickly.

“Why not?” Bronn shrugged.  “You’re a soldier, you’ve been around campfires with other men.  People always ask stuff like that.”

Jaime gaped at him.  “No they _don’t_ ,” he said stiffly. 

“Ah,” Bronn said wisely.  “Probably didn’t ask you because it’s obvious you’re a prude.  Nevermind.”

“I’m not a _prude_ ,” Jaime protested.  “It’s just inappropriate.”

“And you’re _all_ about being appropriate,” Bronn said, rolling his eyes.  “How _is_ your sister, by the way?”

Jaime sucked in another audible breath then.  “ _Don’t_ ,” he said lowly, and spurred his horse on faster so he was riding ahead of Bronn.

“Personally, I’ll take any position,” Bronn said loudly, nudging his own horse on to catch Jaime back up.  “But I’m a big fan of having someone on their hands and knees.”

Jaime’s face was flaming red when he turned to glare at Bronn.  “I don’t want to know how you fuck your whores!”

“Is that how he fucked you?” Bronn asked, ignoring Jaime’s outburst.

Jaime stopped short, just staring at him.  “ _Wh_ —I...I don’t know what you mean.”

“ _Arthur Dayne_ ,” Bronn said, even though they both knew exactly what he’d meant.  “Is that how he fucked you?” he repeated, slower this time, deliberately.

Jaime was silent for a long, long moment.

“You gonna deny it?” Bronn asked casually.

“I don’t have to deny anything to you,” Jaime said eventually.  

“So he did,” Bronn surmised.

Jaime still didn’t deny it, and didn’t kick his horse into moving again.  He was watching Bronn with wide-eyed disbelief but his jaw was set.  

“It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Bronn told him.  He rode past Jaime to start them moving again, since Jaime looked like he’d about died inside and wasn’t going to be waking up any time soon.  A few seconds later, he heard the shuffle of sand under hoof as Jaime urged his horse to follow.

“I’ve had my fair share of men,” Bronn admitted freely, when Jaime didn’t reply.  

“ _You_?” 

“Oh aye,” Bronn said.  “I’ll take anyone, me.  Sometimes you want a woman, all soft and warm.  Sometimes you want a man, summat a bit rougher, you know?”

Jaime coughed but was resolutely silent.

“Not that it _has_ to be rough with a man,” Bronn continued, because he was going to spur Jaime into replying if it killed him.  “And not that it was to be soft with a woman.  All depends, don’t it?  See now, with _you_...” Bronn said, turning his head a bit so he could glance at Jaime from the corner of his eye.  “With you, I’d be gentle.  Think you’ve not known much gentle.”

“ _What_?  You don’t— _you don’t_ —how—you don’t know _anything_ about me!” Jaime got out, strangled and high.

Bronn silently celebrated the minor victory of getting any response at all.

“I know enough,” he said wisely.  “Or maybe you don’t want it gentle.  You think you prefer it rough, Kingslayer?  Your sort,” he scoffed.  “You think you know rough but you don’t have a clue what a _real_ man could do to you.”

“Arthur was ten times the man you’ll _ever_ be,” Jaime defended him loudly.

“Alright well, if you _want_ it rough, Kingslayer, I’m more than happy to oblige,” Bronn said appeasingly.  “I could give you a good hard fucking if that’s what you’re after.”

“I don’t want _anything_ ,” Jaime snapped at him.  “Not from you.  Just—stop _talking_ , don’t you ever shut up?  And don’t _call_ me that.”

Bronn grinned.  “Sorry, princess.”

“ _Or_ that!”  Jaime canted his head upward to glare at the sky for a long moment, praying for patience and for the tightness in his breeches to go away.  It had been a long time, was all.  A long time since he’d been touched at all, let alone by a man, and Jaime _wasn’t_ going to think about it, he was shutting those thoughts away right now because it was exactly what Bronn wanted and Jaime wasn’t going to let his ridiculous _teasing_ ruin this mission.  

Bronn _would_ be rough with him, though; Jaime was sure of it.  Just the sort of rough Jaime _liked_ —he was when they sparred and Jaime could only too easily imagine how that would unfold in the bedroom as well.  Different from Arthur, who’d had a sure, steady strength and would never have called it _fucking_ but always said making love, and that was how it had felt, all those years ago, and Jaime could have _kicked_ Bronn for bringing it all to the surface.  It was the very last thing he wanted to think about—he thought he would have preferred his grief for Arthur to have filled him then, rather than the heat of those memories.  

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t ya?” Bronn asked smugly.

“Shut up,” Jaime groused.  He _was_ thinking about it, damn it all.  Bronn’s calloused hands and the scrape of his beard and the solidness of the body that had flattened Jaime during sparring so many times.

“We’ll make camp soon,” Bronn promised.  “And I’ll have you begging for it.”

“I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for that,” Jaime said, trying steadfastly to ignore the heat that had rolled through him at those words.

“Oh, princess,” Bronn said, “we’ve got tonight.  Trust me, that’s all I’ll need.”

And if not, well—it was long way to the Water Gardens from here.  

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
